Save Me from Dangerous Men (Nikki Griffin #1)(23)

Something about him seemed familiar, even though I was sure we’d never met. I took a long-shot guess. “You called me the other night, didn’t you? At my home.”

His eyes shifted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Using a voice changer. You were trying to warn me about something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated weakly. He pulled an orange plastic bottle from a pocket and removed two small white pills, dry-swallowing them. I glimpsed the label. Lorazepam. Jess had a prescription for the same thing because she hated flying.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he repeated.

“You never got around to giving me your name,” I added.

“No! I’m not used to this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” he continued more quietly. “It’s very stressful. I don’t know how people like you manage it constantly.”

“Don’t tell me your real name if you don’t want to. We’re not in The Secret Agent.”

“The what?”

“Conrad. Never mind. But I have to call you something.”

He hesitated. “Call me Oliver.”

“Okay. So, Oliver, why are we here?”

“You took on a job that you shouldn’t have,” he finally said. “There’s a lot more going on than you know, and what you’re up against is a lot more than you can deal with.”

“You really know how to build up a girl’s self-confidence.”

He didn’t smile. “You should walk away,” he said. “Better yet, run. Away from the whole mess, before it’s too late. Because after a certain point, there’s no going back.”

I was getting tired of the whole Nostradamus act. “I thought you had something to tell me. Something real.” I glanced around at the grass, dead brown after the dry summer. “As much as I like the beautiful view and scintillating conversation.”

“I’m getting to that.”

“Well, you’re not breaking any speed limits.”

“First I need to know that I can trust you.”

I spread my hands apologetically. “Oliver. Please. There’s no way I can make that happen. And that’s not a bad thing. You don’t know me. You’d be stupid to take anything I say at face value. But, sure, if you insist—how can I earn your trust?”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty bad job of it so far,” he retorted.

“How long have you worked at Care4?”

He drew back suspiciously. “Who says I do? How do you know that?”

“Because you knew Gunn would be at the fitness center, which means that you either have access to his calendar or work at the gym.” I remembered the biceps and smile of the charismatic Korean guy who had walked me up to the racquetball courts, the cluster of energetic salespeople we’d passed. “You’re definitely not a trainer, and frankly—no offense—there’s no way you’re in sales, because if you were, the whole place would be bankrupt.”

“You really know how to build up a guy’s self-confidence,” he returned.

I had to laugh. “Sorry. Guess we’re even. So what do you do at Care4?”

The flash of humor faded as he gazed out at the weed-choked water. “I’m in security.”

“I think you forgot your gun and badge.”

“Not that meathead goon crap. I mean the security that matters—network security. The stuff that people should actually worry about.”

“How about me? You told me I should worry. So what do I worry about?”

His lip pinched his teeth. “Why were you hired by Care4?”

I made a fast calculation of the pros and cons of disclosure, and decided that I almost definitely wouldn’t be telling him anything he didn’t already know. “To follow an employee. Karen Li. To find out if, and what, she’s stealing from the company.”

He nodded. “Have you talked to her?”

“Of course not. You think I can just walk up and ask if she had eggs or oatmeal for breakfast? That’s not how it works.”

He unwrapped a candy bar that he took from his pocket. “What do you know about Greggory?” he asked, biting into the dark chocolate.

“I know that he’s the CEO of a tech company that’s going to change the world one baby monitor at a time. Look, Oliver. I appreciate the questions, but I can’t do the runaround all day. What do you want to tell me?”

“Not tell you. Show you.” He reached into his car and handed me a sheaf of folded papers. I unfolded them and looked up questioningly.

Airline itineraries.

The passenger name on each was Mr. Greggory A. Gunn. “Are these real?”

He nodded. “It’s easy enough to verify a couple of flights if you don’t believe me.”

The destinations jumped out. Grozny, Chechnya, with a stop in Moscow each way. A three-day round trip to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, and then a third trip to Cairo, Baghdad, and Istanbul. I did my best to memorize the flight numbers and dates. Three separate trips in total, all within the last ninety days, all commercial. It was the last part that made me skeptical. “You’re telling me your CEO is too cheap to fly private? Have you seen his watch?”